Day 4 - Fermented Salad.

I had the best of intentions. I really did, but then the tickets to see hippie insanity came in the mail, and I was reminded of my listening to the Grateful Dead, and singing along, and I just knew something was wrong. I knew the salads were having an adverse impact. I needed to do something. Luckily for me the “something” in question came in the form of my friend Xavier Massot came down, we fired up the Dead Boys, we passed guitars, and we drank whiskey. We drank A LOT of whiskey.

            You could say that I took my salad in the form of fermented ancient grains, and by “grains” I mean corn, and by “ancient” I mean aged in new white oak barrels and charcoal filtered…

            Xavier and I went on a serious mission to round up provisions before we headed up the hill to begin a night that was sure to include all kinds of boozing it up. We knew what was in front of us, and since he knew I was eating one salad a day he proposed we make sure to build a hearty one. We bought a bunch of mixed greens, but also orange cauliflower and baby Yukon Gold potatoes, with the intention of having some roasted veg on the salad. We also bought, from our local butcher, a nice sized flat iron steak, which we intended to slice and eat with the salad. This thing was beautiful, local, grass fed, you know… All the, “hey look at me, I’m caring for the environment,” monikers one could shake a stick at. The steak was nicely vacuum packed so I dropped it in my sous vide cooker, set to 131 and we began with the drinking.

            Well, I should mention that I up until 4:00 I had not eaten anything all day. I suggested that we go to Wendy’s and grab a couple of baconators. Xavier was up for this, having never had one before, (WTF!?) but then I remembered the salad diet, and thought through that there is more to this than just eating the salads. I mean, yea, the salads are healthy, but part of this is about being intentional about what I eat. The salads remind me to think about what I’ve eaten through the course of a day. We opted instead to grab a couple gas station sandwiches.

            Now, before you get all ranty and tell me how bad those things are for you, let me remind you that a Baconator has 840 calories, of which 459 are from fat. Let’s compare that to an egg salad sandwich: 291 calories. So, that was a good decision, and one I think I can feel proud of and commit to the annals of Williamson family history to be retold and retold though countless generations to come.

            One time I was in Virginia visiting my family, staying with parents, where every day, without fail, cocktails are served at 5:00 pm sharp. I got up from my seat in the living room, where I was talking with my father, and headed towards the bar.

            “I’m going to make a drink,” I said, “ Do you want anything?”

            My father’s response was swift and condemning.

            “No, I don’t want a drink. I don’t drink in the middle of the afternoon like some kind of alcoholic. God David, what’s wrong with you?”

            “Um, Dad… It’s 5:15.”

            “Oh,” he said, shifting gear as smoothly as a Formula One driver working the transmission on a hundred thousand dollar Ferrari, “ In that case, I’ll have Scotch and water. Not too much water.”

            Why do I mention this? Well, because Williamson take cocktails very seriously, and there are rules. One of the rules is that you never drink so much as to make an ass of ones self. Another is that you should not be a blatant alcoholic. I mean, if you ask the AA folks, we’re all alcoholics, but you get my meaning. Anyway, I broke some rules last night. The specific one I broke was the rule about eating dinner. We just sort of bypassed that part of the evening and headed straight for the Bourbon.

            Xavier and I talked for hours about music and politics, and it was great. Midway through the evening my father-in-law arrived. He’s come down for the weekend to build some kind of compost container for the lovely Allison, and he joined in with the festivities. We talked, and talk, and talked. We also drank. When the Bourbon was gone we cracked into some beer, and then wine, all the while not eating that lovely salad.

            So, I guess what I’m saying is, yesterday’s salad will have to be marked down as the egg salad sandwich from the gas station.

            It was really good. Seriously.